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Jessica Jan 24
There is a place where people
Go. Enticed by its calling.
Jeering
Luring, coercing you to tip over.
Knowing if you resist you are
Killing yourself.

A risk between rapturous reception
And ruthless regret.
The lip of insanity, the troubled
Resting place for those who want to
Forget and be forgotten.

Those who wait on the edge
Become ghosts.
Tourists.
Watching as the world forgets them. Waiting on
Others instead of themselves.

Those who stay in the middle
Forget to look at things from the outside.
Central
View without outer perspective.
Things get broken in there.

There is a place where the boundaries
End. Where you must get lost to be found.
Performing
A balancing act between two worlds.
But if you walk too close
Eventually you’ll just…
                                                                                                                                                 F  a l    l          

              o    f        f.
Jessica Jan 24
This chasm of disappointment holds crushed dreams and dead days; haunting sounds of tears reverberate through the dusty, lifeless amusements. Dried mud shelters a ticket to this graveyard which has been discarded- like the place, it is forgotten and futile. The surrounding trees sing the songs of childhood cries and melancholy mothers. The sordid smell of horror and stress as a father loses his child to the monster who carries hundreds to elation, still hangs in the air like a warning sign. The beaten ground has sacrificed herself to our indifferent society. The quietness lingers, muffling the rest of the world.
A man has found solace in this place- his cardboard bed upgraded to metal. He picks at the sallow skin around his fingers, the dirt encased in the material he calls clothes, and rearranges what he has left of his life which he can control- a pillow, a cup, a single sweet wrapper. The man’s eyes are glazed with a hopelessness that only comes from years of brutal optimism met with striking pain- the world which treats some with respect has spat him out all chewed up and broken. But, like me, this man has found a place free from judgement, uncontrolled by society. We belong in this forgotten place because we, this man and I, want to forget.
Peace embeds itself in everything here, and all the broken things crying in pain are silenced. I can still feel the presence of people who passed through this childhood rite of passage, weathered with the fleeting touch of time. A comfortable solitude attracts lost individuals- the cracks aren’t fixed here, they don’t matter- a broken thing can be a beautiful thing. There is no sound to distract, no judgement to detract- I can be alone with the leftover laughter and neglected rides; an exquisite damaged family of paint-licked metal and over-excitement.
Though desolation resides, I find beauty in the wreckage. Here I can think, here I can write.
Jessica Jan 24
You were immaculate; the dreamers dream, but you taught me that trust isn’t one sided. You showed me that pain can stem from love. You loved me like a murderer loves his victim and you killed me the same way. You treated me like less than what I am and I forgot I was still human. The scars you left won’t fade; your hands left bruises on my body. The thing about ‘love’ is it can cure any ailment, but get it wrong, and it can just as easily **** you. I got it wrong… we got it wrong. My stomach shouldn’t churn at the pressure of your touch. I shouldn’t crave to be alone. You made every man look like ****, you made every touch sickening to endure. How do you live knowing you stopped me from doing the same?

But, as it turns out, damaged people are dangerous, and there are so many of us. We will build an army not to defend ourselves from your attacks, but to show you that we can’t be attacked again. Women were born to defy the society that clenches them in its fist until they are no longer people, but objects with which men can do as they please. Little girls shouldn’t be told to “be careful”, little boys should be taught that everyone is a sacred masterpiece which should never be spoiled. What type of world is it that we live in when what you wear determines what you want?

So, to anyone who has been hurt: you are not broken, you are healing. You are not worthless; you are worth so much more than whoever wounded you. The cracks in your heart can heal, but the scars will stay… mine have, but instead of reminders of my pain, I choose to wear them as war paint with which to make me strong.
Jessica Jan 24
We can’t help the world.
I will never again say
That people can change.
It’s a fact of life,
And I know
We can’t survive,
When they say
People tell lies
That life is worth living,
The truth comes out
That we are destroyed.
There are people who claim
That we aren’t ruined.
We just want to say,
It’s not over yet.

*NOW READ FROM BOTTOM TO TOP
Jessica Jan 24
This cosmic canister carries the world’s disarray-
Our destinations different, our feelings the same.
Though we have regular meetings we remain strangers;
Heads down, uncomfortable.
A pattern forms in our lives which none exits, our sacred routine which if changed is wrong.
Empathetic eyes glazed with weariness.
At each departure, a new inhalation of caffeine and smoke,
A new wave of bodies,
A new mass.
We all contribute to the mass, but the mass never goes,
Only waxes and wanes with the seasons.
We travel as one, carried by destinations, riddled with enigmas.
The hour reaches 6:00 and the mass bulges; the kettle is at its boiling point.
We move as agitated atoms riling against one another.
The world’s day draws to a close, as our microenvironment wakes.

A man exhales stale disappointment- no promotion due.
The coarse skin of his fingers caresses
The constant happiness in his life;
Helping him live, hastening his death.
Unable to inhale satisfaction, his suit clad leg
Writhes underneath the table,
Distracting him, but alerting others of the craving.
Although his tie is straight and his briefcase orderly,
A lose thread and weary eyes give him away-
He’s tired; tired of life, tired of the necessary endless routine
Which holds him and his livelihood captive.
It weakens and sustains him simultaneously.
His secrets define him.

A girl sighs, her cheeks wet,
Tears heavy with hurt.
A bruise has settled itself on her forearm;
A warning for the next time she comes home late.
Her skin has become a canvas and everyday more paint is added.
Her permanent ink hides the painful marks
Yet the latter seems to leave the most lasting impression.
Her face is scarcely discernible;
Metal studs line the place where her smile should be-
They are so many that her humanity becomes robotic.
Her secrets define her.

The tube we sit in holds heavy hearts, new smiles,
Old friends.
The mass becomes one as each day our routine returns,
Unchanged.
We get to know our fellow travellers
Without really getting to know them at all.
Their influence on our existence seems insignificant,
Yet they contribute to the steadfast mass that so grips our little lives,
Whilst we hold on to sanity by a single thread.
Our secrets define us.
Jessica Jan 24
one day you’ll realize
one day you’ll understand
how much it hurt
how you broke me into a million pieces
and then stamped on my ruins
there will be a moment
when you finally get it
when your world will go dark
and you won’t be able to see anything but pain
when the only thing that could save you
you pushed out of your life
like I was a temporary lifestyle
a cigarette break
and in that moment
you will look for me
and I won’t be there
Jessica Jan 24
If there’s one thing I can tell you,
It’s that you are all you’ve got.
When no one else is there,
You’ve got you, and that’s your lot.
So, make sure you treat her nicely,
Make sure you love her quirks.
Keep her safe and healthy;
Turn on the light if darkness lurks.
Make sure you understand
That your body is your home,
It’s yours for life and don’t forget
It’s the only one you own.
Don’t look at other ‘houses’
With envy in your eyes,
Remember that what makes a home
Is more than just it’s size.
Each little imperfection,
Every single tiny thing
Is a gratifying action
That makes your body sing.
Don’t ever put her down,
Don’t ever wish her away,
Because you, yourself, your body
May be all you have one day.
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